


Pickpocket

by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Secret Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 16:07:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13930548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/pseuds/lq_traintracks
Summary: Harry and Draco sneak into one another’s dorm rooms during eighth year.





	Pickpocket

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta’d, so any and all mistakes are my own. This is written for hogwarts365’s Prompt #234 _aberration_ and _capacious_.

It’s Harry who usually creeps into the dungeons late at night. 

“Couldn’t wait?” Draco’s smile teasing, gaze full of Harry’s hurriedly undressed body, skin drenched in seaweed-coloured lake light.

But Potter looks good in anything, everything. In nothing.

Draco makes room, heart rioting under his breastbone. 

“You dolt,” under his breath, smirking, when Harry bangs his ankle on the nightstand.

Harry winces, mouthing, “Sorry.”

He fits between Draco’s legs, thrusting already -- because it’s been two days; because they’re eighteen and horny as blistering fuck; because he likes to cover Draco with his body and breathe Draco’s given name as he comes, like a charm he’s trying out, wandless.

That’s how it usually is.

But then some nights…

Draco sneaks up the stairs like a fugitive. No Invisibility Cloak, because _he’s_ not some sodding “Master of fucking Death” plonker of the first order. He uses a Disillusionment charm instead, made stronger by all the practice he’s got.

Draco steals into Harry’s dormitory, tip-toeing to the side of the bed, removing the charm with a wand flourish. He’s already throbbing as he stares at Harry’s bare torso, the deep breaths that fill his belly, fingers of one hand tucked into the waistband of his pyjama bottoms.

“Potter,” Draco whispers, jostling his shoulder.

“Huh?”

“Let me in.”

Harry scoots. The bed, where he lay, is warm under Draco’s side. They face each other, Harry’s bleary eyes blinking, and shove their trousers down just enough.

Hand jobs in the hushed dark. Harry’s bitten lip; Draco’s soft moan at Harry’s fist speeding up.

Hips rocking, their gazes meet, mouths close, but unkissing. Harry licks his lips -- and Draco tastes it.

They come, small cut-off whines escaping. Their knuckles brush, their cocks. Draco’s breath hitches.

Harry smiles, that shattering thing that splits the night. Draco could come from that smile alone.

They scoot infinitesimally closer (“accidentally”), bodies entangled under Harry’s safe-smelling sheets. Harry’s bed is always big enough for Draco’s desire, cosy enough for his fears.

Five more minutes, and Draco will go. He steals time like a pickpocket, minutes slipped like a watch off a wrist.

They breathe, heads on the same pillow.

Five more just like that.


End file.
